


perianth

by oryx



Category: Tales of Vesperia
Genre: F/F, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-05
Updated: 2013-08-05
Packaged: 2017-12-22 12:18:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/913130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oryx/pseuds/oryx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everything was so much easier when she lived alone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	perianth

**Author's Note:**

> don't mind me, just some self-indulgent fluff. written for areyougame @ DW

“Okay,” she says. “How about this: a machine that stores sunlight and converts it into heat whenever it’s needed?”

 

Estelle sticks her trowel into the earth and glances up from her flowerbed, a thoughtful set to her features. She tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear absentmindedly, leaving a smudge of dirt on her cheek, and Rita has to tamp down the urge to reach out and wipe it away.

 

“I think that would absolutely brilliant,” Estelle says. “But… How does one ‘store sunlight,’ per se?”

 

They stare at each other for a long moment.

 

“I, uh… haven’t really gotten to that part yet,” Rita admits. She clears her throat awkwardly. “I could’ve managed it easily enough with blastia, but…”

 

She trails off, the rest of her words hanging unspoken in the air between them. Estelle smiles in a way that speaks of understanding (and yet she doesn’t get it at all; doesn’t know what it’s like to devote your life to something and have it ripped away in an instant). She reaches across the flower patch and pats Rita’s hand comfortingly.

 

“Well if anyone can figure it out, you can,” she says. “Just don’t push yourself too hard, alright? You have all the time in the world to invent something amazing, Rita! There’s no need to rush.”

 

“… Yeah,” Rita says, forcing herself to smile back. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

 

.

 

.

 

Everything was so much easier when she lived alone.

 

And by “easier” she means “infinitely worse,” but at least things were simple back then. Staying up three nights in a row poring over old tomes and agonizing over formulas. Passing out at her desk and waking up with a sore back, unaware of what month it was. Forgetting to eat for days on end. Setting her notes, prototypes and occasionally hair on fire in various magical explosions.

 

Truly, those were the times.

 

Nowadays, though, there’s often a blanket thrown over her shoulders when she wakes. Nowadays there’s almost always food waiting for her when she staggers blearily into the kitchen in the dead of night. Now there’s teatime and flowers and _Estelle_ , with her sunny smiles and optimism and her soft hand on Rita’s forehead, checking for fever when she overworks herself.

 

Estelle’s benevolence scares her a bit. She keeps wondering what it is she’s done to warrant such kindness. And the more she wonders, the more she comes up frighteningly empty.

 

Estelle is so much _better_ than her, in almost every way. Every day this thought echoes in her mind, intruding upon her when she least expects it, a cruel and callous reminder. Estelle is so much better and she deserves someone spectacular, someone who can show her the same kindness in return. But Rita… Rita doesn’t know how. She isn’t cut out for this, she’s never been someone’s family before, she –

 

She does the only thing she can think of: throwing herself into her work with a mad fervor. If she can just _make_ something – get her name in the history books, get people talking about the Great Mage Mordio again – then maybe, just maybe, she’ll be a person worthy of Estelle. (Maybe, just maybe, she’ll stop feeling so _useless_.)

 

“There’s a Flower Festival today,” Estelle says over tea. She smiles encouragingly. “Do you want to go?”

 

“… No,” Rita says, and hates herself a little. “No, sorry. I have work to do.”

 

Estelle’s smile fades a bit. “Oh,” she murmurs. “Alright then. Maybe next year?”

 

Rita nods, averting her eyes, fingers twisting the hem of her shirt anxiously.

 

 _But what if there isn’t a next year?_ she wonders. _What if I’m never good enough?_

 

.

 

.

 

She’s in the middle of adjusting the wiring in her latest prototype when there’s a knock from the vicinity of the window. She starts, nearly dropping her wire cutters into the machinery, and spins around to see Yuri leaning nonchalantly on her windowsill. Her pulse is pounding a mile a minute as she glares at him with all the force she can muster.

 

“Don’t scare me like that,” she hisses. “I could’ve roasted your sorry ass with a fireball, you know.”

 

“Mmhmm.” He looks wholly unimpressed. “Mind if I come in?”

 

He doesn’t wait for an answer; just swings himself up over the sill in that effortless way of his.

 

“What is it with you and windows?” Rita mutters. “We have a door. Two of them, in fact, both perfectly serviceable for all of your entering and exiting needs.”

 

He laughs but doesn’t bother gracing her with an answer. Instead he merely takes a seat across from her and props his feet up on her workbench, raising an eyebrow like he expects something from her.

 

She sighs. “Did you travel all the way from Zaphias just to stare at me, or did you need something?”

 

“Just wondering how things are with you,” he says with a shrug. “Not morbidly ill or, I don’t know, going through some kind of… personal crisis?”

 

“No…?” Rita sets her tools down and scowls at him. “Are you touched in the head, Yuri? What the hell are you on about?”

 

Yuri shrugs again. “Estelle sent me a letter. Claims you’ve been ‘odd’ lately and wanted me to come check up on you. She’s worried you might be ‘sick or angry or unhappy.’ Her words, not mine.”

 

“…What?”

 

“She said she would’ve just asked you herself, but she thinks that she’s the reason and didn’t want to upset you any further.” He recites this stiltedly, like he’s worked hard to memorize every word.

 

Rita stares at him for a long time, uncomprehending. And then she slumps back in her chair, confusion and dismay burning red hot in the pit of her stomach.

 

“No,” she chokes out. “No, that’s not… That’s not even remotely true! Oh my god, how could she even think that??”

 

“Well I don’t know,” Yuri says, rolling his eyes. “Maybe because you’ve been hiding away in this room for weeks, refusing to answer any of her questions and generally acting like an irritable asshole? And just for the record those are _my_ words, not hers.”

 

“No. No, you just don’t _get_ it, Yuri. This is – this is all for her,” Rita says desperately. She leans forward and cradles her head in her hands, feeling all the frustration of the past few weeks bubbling to the surface. “I’ve got to do this for her, okay? She’s so wonderful and I’m just… _stuck_. I don’t know what I’m doing anymore, Yuri. Things refuse to work right in my mind. With the blastia gone I’m not a genius or a scholar or anything. I’m not… I’m not anyone.”

 

Yuri stares at her for a long, quiet moment, a frown tugging at his lips.

 

“Honestly, Rita,” he sighs. He runs a hand through his hair wearily. “I don’t understand how someone so smart can be such an idiot. You’re just going through a slump; it’ll pass.”

 

“A slump?” Rita echoes. She chokes out a bitter laugh. “Is that what this is? I feel worthless, Yuri. If I can’t be the Great Mage Mordio then what good am I? I’m not – ”

 

The workshop door bursts open, then, revealing a trembling, teary-eyed Estelle. Rita lets out a surprised yelp and nearly falls out of her chair. Even Yuri looks mildly taken aback.

 

“Rita!” Estelle exclaims, rushing forward and clasping the other girl’s hands tightly. “I’m sorry for eavesdropping, it wasn’t intentional I swear, I just happened to overhear but – Rita, do you really feel that way??”

 

“I…” Rita opens her mouth to say something, but no words come. “I, uh…”

 

“Because I love you, Rita,” Estelle says earnestly. “I’ll always love you no matter what! It doesn’t matter to me if you never invent anything ever again, even though I know you will because this is _you_ we’re talking about, and you’re amazing! But even so I really mean it – I don’t care what you do as long you’re happy and here with me, okay? That’s all… That’s all I want from you.”

 

Rita stares at her, speechless. Her chest hurts. It can’t be this easy, she thinks. In Aspio no one ever truly wanted her – it was always just the results, the findings, the discoveries. Only her mind mattered. It was what set her apart, and yet without it she would have been nothing. But now Estelle is here, saying that all she wants is Rita’s presence, nothing more, and Estelle never lies. Rita swallows hard, tears prickling at her eyes.

 

“Yeah,” she says softly. “Yeah, okay.”

 

She reaches out and wraps her arms around Estelle’s neck, burying her face in the taller girl’s shoulder. Estelle laughs through her tears and returns the hug, her hands warm and gentle on Rita’s back. They stay like this for a time, and Rita hardly dares to breathe, as if the slightest noise might send everything crumbling down around her.

 

“Yuri Lowell!” Estelle exclaims suddenly, making Rita jump. Yuri is inching his way towards the window, looking decidedly uncomfortable from all these sappy displays of affection, and he freezes mid-step when she calls his name.

 

“You came all the way from Zaphias and I haven’t fed you anything yet,” Estelle huffs. “Don’t even think about sneaking away!”

 

He lifts his hands as if to say “guilty as charged” and returns to his seat.

 

“Sorry,” he says, with a faint, amused smile. “Just being considerate. Didn’t want to interrupt.”

 

Rita is suddenly, acutely aware of the fact that Yuri just witnessed that entire spectacle. A flush of embarrassment burns the back of her neck. “Oh my god,” she groans. “Yuri, if you tell anyone anything I said today, you’re as good as dead. _Especially_ not Karol or the old man. Got it?”

 

He laughs and shakes his head, exasperated. “Worry not. I will take the secret of your single moment of vulnerability to my grave.”

 

“Now,” Estelle says, clapping her hands. “Let’s have tea!”

 

(And just like that, everything is right in the world again.)

 

.

 

.

 

“What is it?” Estelle asks, kneeling down next to the small machine with curiosity in her eyes.

 

“It’s a present for you,” Rita says, clearing her throat nervously. Her face is hot. “It, uh… blends flower seeds. You put in two different kinds and it creates a new one – a combination of the two. So, a crimson nadesico seed and a blue nadesico seed would make a nadesico with dark purple petals. And you can cross-blend species, too. I mean, if you want. I put a beautyberry and a queen’s kiss in there earlier and I think the results might be really interesting once it blooms.”

 

Estelle stares up at her, wide-eyed. “Rita,” she breathes. “This is – it’s astounding!”

 

Rita smiles, ever so slightly, and reaches out to intertwine her fingers with Estelle’s.

 

It might not get her into the history books, but for now, she supposes, it’s enough.


End file.
